Red Al's POV
by writtentempest204
Summary: Al discovers his brother in a pool of his own blood... but not by an enemy hand.    Rated T for violence references  i.e. cutting . One-shot. Perhaps it is the twisted logic of the tortured soul that led him to believe that pain could solve pain.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Full Metal Alchemist; all rights reserved to Hiromu Arakawa and the respective comapnies**.

Red.

I'd seen it many times. It came up everywhere we went.

It was the color of roses, which I never had the time to stop and smell. I chuckled slightly, knowing that even if I did, I couldn't smell them anyway.

I assumed it was brother's favorite color, as it was the color of the coat he always seemed to wear.

It was the color of the stone, the object we had sought for so long.

I knew brother saw it often, whenever someone called him short.

It came up in so many ways. To the average person, it would seem to have so many more pleasant meanings than unpleasant ones.

But we'd seen plenty.

It had nearly drowned us the night we tried to bring our mother back. It covered my brother. The thing we created leaked it all over the floor. It accompanied the other emblazoned colors as it devoured our house that night.

It's interesting. So often, that red is associated with death. Perhaps because when you see that blood, you know that someone is indeed hurt, dying, or dead.

It was all over the walls when we found the Nina-chimera that night. It stained my brother's hands.

It seemed we saw blood far too often. Too often had my brother's hands and mine been stained. We'd seen death so often, you would think we would get used to it. But somehow, it always tore me apart. I sensed it was the same with brother.

I can see why it would have such a dark connotation. That red meant pain. And we'd had our share and more.

It is one thing to see your own brother covered in his own blood by the hands of his enemies.

It is quite another to see him covered in his own blood by his own hands.

And it is quite something unusual that the night I found him, that red no longer meant death to me.

I couldn't bear to see him hurt. Anytime he was hurt, whether it was the guilt that burdened him or the physical pain, I could not bear it. He would never reveal that he ever felt pain, but I knew it anyway. I could see it in him. I could feel it.

He needed a goal. He needed a focus, and he needed to feel that he could be the strong one, the older brother. Of course, I let him. After all, that was his place. And truly, I did rely on him. I knew how very different we were. I was dependent on him. But what others could not see, and what he tried not to show was that he needed me as well.

And that was fine. I knew it had to be this way.

Ironic, really, that the man he hates most is the one he takes after. I remember our father somewhat. From what our mother would tell us, he could have a temper and often let his pride get in the way.

I smile fondly at these memories. Yes, he is just like father.

But I cannot tell him that. He would only see red.

I play my role and he plays his. But sometimes I know I need to step in. I know that sometimes his hot head and pride will lead him to a dead end. And I can help.

Yin and yang. A perfect balance. I always sensed that about us. I always felt I was more like mom…

He is hot-headed and prideful. And he is a leader and strong and fiercely loyal and loving.

I am cool-headed, and I always prefer a plan.

Sometimes, we need the snap-decisions. Other times, we need to think things through.

It has not been easy.

But we have each other.

As I said, I cannot take him being in pain. I could not watch him suffer. Covered in blood.

He always seemed to be covered in blood.

His own or others', it didn't matter.

And I could see the hurt.

I could feel it.

I had to let him hurt.

He won't let me in.

No matter what I try, he remains closed. Particularly to me. He doesn't want to seem weak. He wants to show he can take care of me. He wants me not to hate him.

He doesn't understand.

I would not, could not ever, hate him.

No matter what.

He always blames himself.

He won't let me in, but I know this.

Every new challenge is another burden.

More guilt.

More red.

But what can I do besides be there for him?

He must work this out, and I will be right by his side.

I am not stupid.

I know how it really is.

Though I am a senseless suit of armor, I let my feelings flow freely.

Because he won't.

To the world, I seem cool and detached.

Ed seems to wear his anger on his sleeve, and whatever other emotions he has.

But when it comes to sadness, I must be the one to cry.

Stupid brother, I think fondly.

I cannot cry tears, and wish I could.

He can, but he won't.

And that is the truth.

HE is the one who will not show his feelings.

I am the one who will.

One of us has to.

But everyone has a breaking point.

And he reached it.

All that red.

I had always freaked out when he was hurt. I could never seem to bear it. I know it is that childish part of me that hasn't grown up yet, the part that will worry and be afraid.

But that night, which should have scared me most, did not.

Even though he was hurt.

Because I had felt it coming.

I didn't know, but I had.

Pain was all he knew. He'd suffered from the moment our father left. He blames himself for that too.

And so it became his escape.

Perhaps it is the twisted logic of the tortured soul that led him to believe that pain could solve pain.

Perhaps he thought I wouldn't realize.

Perhaps he thought he could get away with it.

But he couldn't.

And I saw red again.

I should have seen red through my anger and despair.

Really, I ought to have felt some kind of panic or worry.

Instead, I leaned down to wrap his arm in a towel. I could clean the blood up later.

I lifted his unconscious form off the floor and turned off the water.

And stoically carried him to Central hospital.

Everyone began worrying when they saw him covered in blood. Everyone set into action and made preparations.

And still, I did not panic. I did not worry.

I understood.

He had not been thinking.

If he had, he would not have done it.

But he did, and I know he was not thinking of me, or else he would not have.

A moment of complete and utter despair. Darkness.

That is all it takes.

And only a moment for me to bring him back.

I could hear him in his sleep.

"For Al…"

Every night, I would hear him mumble these two simple words.

Every night, he would mutter this simple sentiment in his sleep, and then roll over and snore.

I heard him. But I never let him know he did it. I don't think he knows that he does.

I have to be here. He lives for me. I live for him. Our bond as brothers…

We are inseparable. For lack of better wording, I choose this.

Everyone else knows it, to some extent. Our bond runs even deeper than blood.

We are connected souls. We live for each other.

We are all we have left.

And I would never let the red overtake him.

And that night I realized, the blood we'd seen so often was not a symbol of death.

It is life.

It flows to provide the body with necessary energy and nutrients required for the human body.

It is an accompaniment of the body, which in turn accompanies the soul and mind.

The three "basic" components of a human.

But this is not about alchemy.

This is about brother.

He wanted to let his life out.

He wanted the pain to stop.

But it was all he knew.

And he though by suffering more, he could relieve it.

Whether he intended to relieve himself of his guilt or others of theirs, it didn't work.

His brow is furrowed.

I place my hand on his and his face relaxes.

I know he is healing.

I will help him.

It is only a matter of time.

I can hear the voices of the others outside the hospital door.

Mustang's voice is loudest.

"WHAT THE HECK DID ED THINK HE WAS DOING?"

I smile a little.

_He wasn't_, I want to say. _He wasn't thinking. Not about us anyway. Perhaps he was thinking of nothing in particular._

The voices quiet, and I hear Riza's next.

"… I'm a bit worried about Alphonse. He doesn't seem to be worried at all, but I know he cares… he seems so calm about all this."

I want to get up, but I don't want to leave brother. Perhaps I will tell them later.

He was not thinking about me.

If he was, he would not have done it.

And he would not have sat in a pool of his own blood, believing pain was the only way out.

But I don't know what he was thinking. Only what he wasn't.

Part of me is glad that he only had one wrist to cut.

Another is grieving that it was all he had. For various reasons.

He had to inflict more pain on one arm rather than equal them out together.

It also reminds me of what he lost.

I know he lost it for me.

But he will never admit that it pains him.

Just like him to be so stubborn.

"Silly nii-san…"

I pause a moment. I just called him silly while he could very well have bled to death by his own infliction of pain.

So why am I not more upset?

I cannot understand…

And then I do. And I know why.

He knew I would be there. Some part of him knew I would save him. Even in his darkest moment.

He_ was_ thinking of me.

He trusted me with his life.

Literally.

And the red of my seal burns with new intent.

He has woken up. But only slightly. And then he sees me.

"Al…" he begins. I know what's coming.

"Al! I—"

"Let's be strong together."

He stops, a bit puzzled. I know he wanted to apologize, to explain, to try and make it up to me. I know he still will. I know he will probably only work harder from now on, and he will add this to his list of guilt, for almost leaving me alone, for almost abandoning me in this state.

But he doesn't get it.

I could never hate him. I brought him back, and I will help him heal.

I will help him out of this. I can be strong too.

He needs help. But he is stubborn and prideful. He wants to be strong for me. He wants to lead the way. And I will let him.

But we'll do it together.

He can do what no one else can: he reads the eyes of my soul.

And then he does what he has never done before.

He finally lets me in.

I hold him in my arms as his tears fall.

He has finally let me in. He has let me see his pain. It is not all, but it is a start.

He understands. He cannot go it alone.

But we can do it together. We will lift one another.

But for now, he needs a release.

And I will give it to him.

I may just be a soul bonded to a suit of armor, but…

I could swear I feel those tears right now. They burn holes in my armor and travel along the iron particles until they reach my blood seal, strengthening it and bonding us closer.

"Al…" he sobs.

"I know."

"… you always have."

"Yes."

And continues his distress. He does not sob like the night we found Nina. He does not try to hide it like the day we attended mom's funeral.

No. These tears come in steady stream, as though his very soul seeks release from this tortured body.

And I am there. Always.

It has grown quiet outside. I know they sense something is going on.

They must have been allowed in by now. But they do not come.

I utter silent thanks in my head. I know they hear it.

Red.

The color of my brother's blood, which bonded me to this armor.

The blood he shed so many times for so many reasons.

And none so significant as that night.

His bandages are gone now, and the scars have faded until they are almost invisible.

No one speaks of that time. I think we all just know.

And now Ed does too.

He finally let me in. This is a starting point. We will be strong together.

His grabs his red coat, and once again we are on our way.

And I am right beside him.

Red. I'm not so sure I like that color.

But I will just have to deal with it. Because it is brother's favorite.

If not for the red, I would not be here.

And neither would he.

Red.

A bond stronger than blood.

His promise.

And mine.

Our love as brothers.

Red.


End file.
